Hopeless
by Sakura1221
Summary: AU. He had long forgotten what it was to feel anything other than negative emotions, she's there to help him get back on track and slowly it turns out, that neither of them are exactly helping the situation in the slightest. [SoMa]
1. Chapter 1

**Woah, two years or something along the lines?**

**I missed this site a hella lot. But I'm back and will probably be **

**writing more often here, ****writing reader inserts tends to get dull after a while**

**(though they have helped me improve my writing a whole lot!) **

**and I do like writing for my pairings. ****So I really hope you guys enjoy this.**

**Afterall, it might be a while before I get to write for Soul Eater again**

**(Homestuck and other things have become my mayor interests)**

**All Characters displayed in this work do not belong to me.**

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**Hopeless**

Three packs of cigarettes, an awful headache that made him feel like the world was exploding around him and an already half empty bottle of whisky are what kept him alive most days, gloomy aura in his self, he doesn't even bother to stand up from his bed and do something productive today. Or is it already night? He couldn't tell, much less care. The blinds were shut close, any light in his room radiating from the clock that told him an incorrect hour; he never bothered correcting the clock's hour. Time was something he realized, had lost its meaning years back, time only brought false senses of hope and lies, those that gave him a sort of hope over time only to be crushed when told that things would get better, Soul frowned, rolling to his side, dropping the bottle and hearing as it made a loud thud on the carpeted floor. The smell almost intoxicating, combining with the fumes of the cigarettes he had been smoking. Ruby eyes watched as the carpet obtained a darker color, the bottle almost empty.

They never got better. He thought bitterly. He remembered a time where everything was okay, everything was good. How long had it been since he had stepped foot outside his room? Probably days, weeks, months? No one cared anyways. He bitterly laughed at the thought, his own voice sounding so foreign against the silence that reigned in his bedroom, gruff, pathetic. He decides, it doesn't bother him in the slightest, no point in keeping up the façade of being okay anymore, after all. What point would there be if he couldn't acknowledge how he really felt. What point is there to remain alive –though that's a word that has lost it's meaning with the wasted minutes of his life- contradicting what you really felt? Soul Eater Evans, pathetic loser without any talent or an actual pleasant life.

It's really sad really; he thought that maybe his friends would've given up a long time ago. Vain attempts and fruitless plans were all they had, one by one they slowly stopped visiting him, Black*Star was the last one to even say something, but he never did. He had barged in, his face stoic but his eyes, they spoke so much, and for a second, Soul felt ashamed of his decisions, ashamed to be seen so horribly looking, isolated in the confines of his bedroom where the sun didn't shine, packs of cigarettes everywhere and the walls with dents in them and long slice marks that could only belong to him, but he swallowed all of that back. Through ruby eyes, he stared at his friend's green eyes.

Black*Star only stared, before sighing. That was the last time he had seen his friend. Some came at times, but never once set foot inside his room, he was thankful; he wasn't alright dealing with so many emotions at once. All he saw were different people with their lives, their happy lives, and Soul, he… he envied that, and it ate him completely up to the point of times where he would become so full of envy, rage, sadness. It exhausted him greatly. He even stopped locking his door after a while; Wes had long ago given up on trying talking to him to play the piano, to go outside, do something with his life, but Soul never answered, only stared blankly at the image of himself, though this image, it wasn't him. Wes had so much in front of him, he was determined and far more superior than Soul in any way. He knew that even if they both looked the same, even though it felt like staring at a mirror, there was no way that Wes would mop around like he was, a disgrace in short words, that's what Soul, no, that's what everyone saw him as.

His body tenses when the sound of his door opening reaches his ears, slowly light begins to seep into the room, he says nothing and sighs. Reluctantly, Soul sits up, stretches and ignores how the sheets cling to his skin in an uncomfortable way, how his eyes seem heavier than usual and his headache is beginning to worsen. His eyes fixate themselves in the entrance where Wes stands, his eyes shine with what seem genuine happiness but his face remains serious, eyebrows furrowed, the two stare at each other. Uncomforting silence reins the room, and it's not the same as when Soul was alone, his brother is in here and has yet to state his business. The seconds tick by, and Soul frowns. Wes's expecting him to speak, he realizes.

"What?," and even though everything in his being told him to not comply to his brother's wishes, his mouth had already opened and the words flew from the tip of his tongue, he flinched, his voice croaky. It was so weird, hearing his own voice after a long time, he thought he might've lost it long ago, his thoughts were his secret heaven, a place where he would talk to himself, and Little Ogre if the demon decided to even show up, at times he pondered if everything that's been going on is actually real, if it's his mind just playing tricks on him, borderline of insanity and what's real, and at this point he couldn't tell the difference between the two. But then he remembers that awful night, the blood, her screaming, it was all so painful to remember.

Sometimes he wished he gained amnesia, anything to forget about that night. Anything to forget why he has a scar going from his collarbone down his chest until his hips.

Wes clears his throat before speaking, mild surprise laced in his voice. "Soul, it's already Saturday. I have the car ready to go, just… get dressed and go downstairs when you're ready." Wes leaves the room for a second before returning, in his hands the clothes Soul's most likely supposed to wear, he makes a face -rather childish of his part- but doesn't say anything when Wes takes one last look at him before closing the door, darkness returning to the room. It gives Soul a sense of familiarity, one that calls out to him to go back to sleep and forget about everything.

His body however, doesn't obey him, and he finds himself walking towards the clothing. In the way turning on the lights and avoiding empty bottles of alcohol thrown around the room. Soul picks up the article and examines it, his face stoic; he remains silent and sets it aside, hanging it on his door before making his way towards the bathroom. His mind is reeling back to what Wes had said. Saturday? What was so especial about the day? It bugged him the entire time he took a shower, dried himself and walked towards the bathroom. His body stopped in front of the mirror, and for the first time in ages he saw himself and the sight only made him feel so much emptier. Obsolete, he hated himself so much. Long gone where any traces of him being a happy child, Soul, he never was happy. One would expect him to be quite content with his way of living, having so much money it was ridiculous. But money wasn't everything to him, in fact, the least of his priorities. Even if he never was happy, the sight before him told such a different story that it was hard to even tell if he was the same eighteen year old from a year ago.

If he in fact, was the same person. His hair, white, spiky, much of a mess right now only tamed by the water that dropped in droplets from it's edges, into his face, the floor, covering his red eyes, tired, long void of emotion that contracted against his pale skin, the one that used to be an almost tanned color. Dark bags under his eyes only helped him look like a dead person, and a part of him cruelly reminded him that he isn't a person. He's a hollow walking shell of the person he used to be, and his mouth, pulls into a sad smile before he grabs his toothbrush and begins to brush his teeth. He takes his time, the smoking had done wonders to his teeth –and not in a good way- sharp as ever, but tinged in a slight yellow tone. He finds it so hard to look positive at things right now, he's slowly rotting away, and he has always been. But now… it was simply ridiculous.

Once done, he steps outside of the bathroom and dries his hair. His mind goes blank and autopilot engages, when he comes back to his senses he's already done and is tying up his tie. Red, contrasts with the black tuxedo, he stares at himself in large mirror that stands in his room. He looks handsome; his thoughts only swirl around how he looks like his old self. A sudden wave of conflicted feelings washes over him, and he wonders, just why, _why,_ Wes picked up this tuxedo instead of his other ones. It only brought memories, and those, Soul wasn't fond of memories. Not in the sightless. His face crunches up and he decides that he's too sick of looking at his reflection. His image hadn't changed one bit, he still looked tired, hopeless, and sick of it all. But dressed up like this, it made him feel, no, it made him look more grown up. Like he had gone through so much and has endured it all, but the sickening truth, the only one he knew, told another story.

Soul stands back, looks at his reflection for a little longer before turning off the lights and grabbing the knob to exit his room, he hesitates. He really doesn't want to leave, but something in his head only makes him want to leave. This nagging feeling at the back of his mind, it screams to go back into bed, fuck Wes, and fuck whatever it was that they were going to do. He couldn't deal with having to face people again, he just wanted to silently drown himself in his misery and bottles of whisky, kill himself slowly by smoking everyday. Anxiety slowly consumed him, and he hated it.

When he had stepped out of the room, not bothering locking it –he knew that sooner or later after he departed with Wes, the maids would come in and clean the room- his eyes strained to look around, the hallway was too lit up. It bothered his eyes, and with a deep breath, he took a step forward, then another. Before he knew it, he was walking down the elegant stairs, his steps resonating against the walls, the marble stairs making no help to quiet down the sound of his shoes. It wouldn't be long for curious eyes to peek quietly at him, he thought. But the young adult simply walked down the stairs, even as he heard the maids running to line up at each end of the steps.

One eye opened and noticed –much to his surprise- that all of the mansion's staff was already there, all bowing down waiting for him. The last step he took and he was already being greeted by the staff, he remained silent and stared forward, the sound of their voices bothering his headache which had diminuend when he had taken a long hot shower, began to slowly creep back into his mind. He wanted to tell them to shut up, but they weren't doing it on purpose. Instead he stopped walking, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed in slight pain. He raised his hand in a calling manner. The sound of feet walking towards him quickly stopped when a young maid stood by his side, Soul only tilted his head and opened his eyes to give the female a stare, she seemed new, by the way she was suddenly taken back and seemed to be surprised when he stared at her. His eyes remained glued on her, cold and calculating. He noticed he was making her nervous; he wanted to laugh, ask why in his absence someone had contracted such an inexperience fool. But bit back his tongue.

As much as he owned this place, owned the staff, he couldn't be cruel to them. They hadn't done anything against his commands, they obeyed when he asked for more alcohol, cigarettes and the often painkillers he'd down in a single day. It was a matter of time before he took an overdose and died. The silence began to weight the poor female down, he noted that her emerald eyes began to crystallize –His chest hurt when he noticed their color, he was sure he knew someone with eyes like those- ; it took him a minute to realize that she was barely shaking and tears threatened to fall. A part of him felt pity, he was making her nervous. With a small sympatric smile, he spoke.

"Do me a favor and bring me some analgesics." He spoke in a low, demanding tone, the female nodded slowly before scurrying off towards the kitchen, he watched as she disappeared behind the various doors to the kitchen. Soul sighed, turned around to face the staff and noticed that they had all been watching them, he frowned. Unnecessary attention, he didn't need it. Then again, when was the last time he had set foot outside of his bedroom? They're all probably shocked to have seen him after so long. A nagging voice in his head told him to ask a question he was dreading, he could choose to ignore it, but he felt the need to know.

"What month is this?" Soul patiently waited for an answer, and he waited, and when he realized that none had responded. He quirked an eyebrow and inspected each of the staff, they remained quiet, making him feel so self-conscious. Why weren't the say anything? He should've remained quiet, ugh; the headache was starting to kill him again. It was at this point that he realized that maybe he should've remained quiet. Now they would think he was crazy, but spending so much time isolated, it only served as time to dig himself deeper into his little black hole, things such as time didn't matter in his room, his sacred place, a place covered in the familiar smell of alcohol and smoke, this place, his mansion, his house –not a home anymore, he lost his the day his Grandmother died- was foreign to him.

When he shifted on his feet and rearranged his tie in an effort to do something other than stand there, his eyes flickered to the side briefly from where the new maid had disappeared off to, she was taking too long, and he hated this. His mind was screaming to go back to his room. When his eyes landed on one of the servants, she quickly blinked and offered a reply. Slowly, she answered, as if picking with delicacy her words.

"September, Master Evans."

He felt the world crash down on his shoulder when the words left the woman's mouth, he however on the exterior remained calm, stoic face and didn't say anything but nod in acknowledge before turning around, his back facing the servants, and watched as the new maid arrived with the pills and a glass of water. He was aware of it, but his mind, it was somewhere else. Just that simple name, September, it made him feel uneasy, lost, without a sense of direction. Had he really spent three months of pure isolation? Had he really lost so much time? In between his week of insomnia and random outburst which ended up in self harming, he thought that maybe everything would be over by the end of the week. It never did, but never had he imagined that he would've stayed so long cooped up in his room.

What even for? No, he wasn't going to bring back those memories. Soul took a shaky breath, blinked when his name was pronounced and took the glass of water and two pills from the servant, taking the pills; he downed them with a drink of water. He remained unmoving, before grabbing the orange translucent bottle, and downing at least six more pills, he ignored the worried calls of his staff before he gave the now half full container to the maid and set it off towards the entrance. He opened the door, greeted by the setting sun of Death City. His eyes scanned the familiar garden and when his eyes spotted the black limo waiting for him and Wes sitting aside, who upon spotting Soul, patted the seat next to him, Soul gulped. Taking a step outside, his mind was racing. Of course he couldn't have been in there for so long… could he? He didn't realize when he had stepped inside the limo, or when the doors were shut. He wasn't even aware when the limo started to move. He simply stared forward, the world spinning around him.

However, a familiar hand sitting atop his shoulder and a light squeeze snapped him out of it. Soul turned to face Wes who was giving him a worried look, his eyes showed true concern, but he tried to hide it through a smile. Soul remained silent and heard as his bigger brother spoke.

"I'm really glad to see that you didn't bail out this time like you did a week ago."

"That wouldn't be a cool thing to do would it now?"

Soul let out a shaky chuckle, leaning back into the comfortable seats of the limo. In any other occasion, he would've rolled down the window and looked outside. But today he wouldn't. He was too damn scared to see just how much things have changed. After all, the world still kept on moving, time was a thing outside his room, he realized. That alone made him a nervous wreck.

"I hope you're okay, really. Lord Death's holding a dinner party, guess what brothers are going to play tonight?" Wes voice was just filled with this happy tone to it. _Of course he would be happy_, Soul thought bitterly; _He's the skillful one, master at the violin. _Soul's only good at playing the piano, and even so, he never got praises like Wes. His music was dark. It has always been. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the one invited to play was Wes, not him, he would never be, and he knew this. His brother just invented an excuse to not have him bail out in mid party.

Soul closed his eyes and faked a smile. "Great, can't wait."

All he wanted right now was to smoke and forget about the world.

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**I've been feeling like writing some angst for a while, **

**hopefully I've portrayed Soul correctly as I haven't written for him in a long time.**

**Plus we're dealing with him being depressed.**

**Please Rate and Review, critiques are always welcome!**


	2. Chapter 2

** Professor Maka: I just really want to say thank you for being my first reviewer! **

**Hopefully I'll get to that part soon in the story. There's so many things going on so it might take a while.**

**All Characters displayed in this work do not belong to me.**

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**Hopeless**

He stood out in the most agonizing way ever, upon hundreds of people in the mansion, high class, decent looks and nothing that could make people turn heads because of anything new, Soul felt more than uncomfortable. He wasn't even referring to the fact that he was an albino with sharp teeth, a far too aged look on his face that could easily be used to trick people into thinking he was older than he really was –but then again, he was already twenty wasn't he?- and red eyes to complete the look, no. Wes already had those looks and people barely batted an eyelash at his different image from what was considered normal and whatnot. He stood out, because in the room full with people with their self-esteem up their noses and high above the cloud, he was nothing more than an ant, a little worthless ant.

Maybe that's why all people present in the ballroom and all turned their heads when the Evan's had arrived. At first they had all seen Wes, some even came to greet him and tried to get him to play some of his famous songs, it took people a while to notice that there was actually someone standing next to Wes, and while it pained him to know that people still did not care, that Wes had dragged him here- though that was his fault, he could've easily skipped out on this one- and lied about people wanting to see them. Wanting to see **him.**

It took people a minute to realize that he was even there, and then an uncomfortable silence filled the room, all eyes had been on him, Soul didn't know what to do, a part of him was just looking for any worse case scenarios, another only mustered up the courage he didn't know he had, and did what he always did when people stared, there was whispering starting to seep through his ears, the tension was thick. Wes felt it too, and cleared his throat before Soul had the audacity to say something lewd.

"As many of you know and for those who don't. This is my brother Soul Evans" If looks could kill, Soul would've already murdered his brother. He knew that this was just making him all uncomfortable, yet the bastard still kept on talking, by now, Soul had been doing nothing but staring blankly at the floor, somehow, suddenly finding it so much interesting than having to pay attention to the piercing, without a doubt, criticizing, looks people gave him. He knew this would happen, after all, interaction with people had reduced so much that some even thought he was dead –probably- so having him here now, was rather to say, a surprise. However, Soul would lie if he said he wasn't expecting rejection from the party attendees, but instead was surprise –and rather relieved- that after Wes had stopped talking, Soul stopped listening after a while- that people resumed to their own matters.

Wes gave him an apologetic smile before leaving to somewhere, leaving Soul alone in the sea of people that were nothing more than objects that he had no interest in. So he secluded himself somewhere where people weren't even trying to be at, whether because he was there or because the place was near the balcony where Kid had probably set off limits –Soul was sure it had something to do with the symmetry of it- was a mystery to him, one that he'd rather leave as it was if it meant having some time alone. He had at first decided to remain sitting on an empty table, watched as waiters and waitress carried silver platters with sophisticated pastries, beverages, and the sorts. In a sense, it was somehow soothing, he was so used to this type of life with servants doing and bringing things to people. He wasn't exactly sure when, he had stopped enjoying those little privileges. Now a day, it bothered him so much the idea of becoming like these type of people, bathing in their own wealth, too lazy to even make their way towards the food table.

Ruby eyes had basically scanned all of the place, the wide room which could probably occupy more than 200 people -or even more if the Mayor wanted- was full to it's brim, the smell of alcohol and perfume combined in any way that made him want to drink and relax, the sound of music –Orchestra- wafting into his ears, familiar, all of it. He wasn't even sure if it brought a good feeling to him or a bad, it most likely be a combination of the two, and he realized that, he didn't really care. Soul hadn't even noticed when he had closed his eyes, it felt like forever until he opened them again. He noticed now that the music was beginning to lower itself until it wasn't heard anymore, the talking had long vanished and all the people were staring at stage that Soul hadn't noticed was there.

He shifted his attention towards the stage, with mild interest, his eyes had caught the drink bar along the way, and he would pay a visit when people began to mind their own business again. On the stage stood a male, probably around his age, dressed in a white dress shirt and black pants that matched his tie and hair color, three stripes going across his head only to be stopped at half. Pale skin that took a more tan color because of the lightning. Golden piercing eyes scanned the crowd, Soul shivered when those eyes landed on him, far at the corner, lonely, and he found that he couldn't look away for a second. Until, the man, cleared his throat and gave a warm smile to the guests, his eyes leaving Soul as if he had never even looked at him.

"I would like to welcome you all to Gallows Manor. Hopefully you'll all enjoy this wonderful party thrown in the honor of my Father, Lord Death, who founded Death City, 100 years ago, today. In behalf of my father, who is at the moment in not a good state of health, I will be your host. Death The Kid."

Introductions out of the way, people began to once more enjoy the soft music, of course, not before Wes was called into stage as the special guest that would be playing tonight. Soul couldn't help the roll of his eyes as he turned to look somewhere else, ending up facing the balcony, the glass doors where closed and he could see his reflection clear as day in it. The sky had already darkened and the moon had already gone out, yellow as always and with blood dripping from its mouth, Soul could only stare at it. The smile on its face however, he found irritating, his fist closed and he sighed, closing his eyes. _Fucking making fun of me_, that's all the moon was; he was more than welcome to let the moon laugh in his face about his misery. Of course he wasn't the one invited to the party, it was Wes. Maybe he did it to rub it in his face, but then again, Wes wouldn't do that to him? Would he? Soul groaned, letting his head hit the table in frustration.

What was he even thinking about? Soul looked up, his eyes heavier than usual. Upon looking at the mirror, he swore he saw a female standing just behind him, probably far further away from what he saw, but she was definitely there, and in fact, in another time he would've ignored it. But her stare was locked on him. Black Dress, blonde hair and green eyes that could pierce his soul. His heart sank and when he blinked, turned around to see if his eyes hadn't played tricks on him, his small light of hope vanished when he noticed that no one was there, only people walking. No signs of the female. He sighed; he really needed that drink right now, he was used to thinking about her, but as to go as far as imagining she was even there. It just made him reconsider even being sober at the time.

With that in mind, it was rather easy going towards the bar without being slightly noticed, along the way he had passed by Wes who asked him to where he was heading, obviously this meant to lie. Even though Soul was an adult, he had developed a drinking habit years back, only worsened when the three months of depression had kicked in fully and he couldn't much more than ask for vodka, wine, anything that would get him tipsy and made him forget about nights and nights of suffering, that Wes would start to worry. Soul would've told a lie, but Wes's attention was shortened when some women came and asked for an autograph, to which Soul took the distraction rather grateful and kept on making his way to the bar. When he arrived, he did nothing more than sit down, order one of the heaviest liquors they had and without a question, the bartender gave it to him.

Time flew rather fast, in a blink of an eye. One moment he's downing two margaritas, and then there's at least ten glasses of tequila around him, his head feels weird and there's this sense of freedom, dizziness that overwhelms him. However it's not enough, and before he can ask the bartender –who was now starting to regret even giving him the alcohol, though threatened by Soul before when he denied the sixth one- there's a hand on his shoulder, firm, delicate fingers grasping on his suit and he only turns around before he's staring into those green eyes, jade, beautiful, he would drown in them any day. If they didn't brought along with their beauty, a familiar unwelcome feeling. He however, pushes all of those things down and puts on a grin, doing his best to show his razor sharp teeth.

"I wouldn't touch me if I were you small-tits." He mocks the female, which at the moment pays no attention to his rude comment –but he did see the way her eye twitched- and pulls a soft worried look, he isn't buying It in the slightest, but in his somewhat coherent state of mind, one that isn't clouded by the blurriness behind the female, he notices that she's the same woman from before, and he thanks God that he wasn't going crazy.

"I don't want to ruin your fun, but you're starting to attract attention." She hisses out the words, slowly, and he's slowly standing up. Trying to not lose his balance –so maybe he did drink too much- and squints, vain attempt to look clearly, and is in fact rewarded with the fact that, people started to actually look his way, while others could care less. He could feel the growing blush of embarrassment hit his face, and he prayed that everyone would just mind their own business. That Wes wasn't looking –one look at the stage, and he noticed that he was walking on stage, violin on hand, good he wasn't- and then turned to face the girl.

"So?" His reply was short, rude, might he add in the way he said it. But inside, he was dying, he shouldn't be speaking to her, he should go back to drinking until he passes out and wakes up the next morning only to realize that it was all dream, but the sound of Wes's playing, the hand on his shoulder, the strong smell of alcohol that obviously came from him and those green eyes that mesmerized him, were all evidence that this was not a dream, it will never be and it all shouted at him to just shut up, listen to the girl and just go home.

Not a good plan proving he left his cell phone back at his room, Wes was currently playing and knowing him, they wouldn't leave because he was already on the verge of getting drunk. The female frowned, he noted that she shouldn't, takes away the pretty light her face has, before sighing and grabbing his hand. He wants to pull back, to tell her to let him go, but he finds no words and she starts walking and takes him away somewhere, somewhere where the strings of his brother's playing no longer reaches his ears, where the air that had somehow disappeared when he had stepped into the mansion suddenly came back. His mind is blank; he doesn't know what to do. He's barely keeping up with her pace, the sound of her high heels hitting the floor makes him cringe slightly, and he doesn't like the sound. Finally, she opens a door and there's this calm cold breeze that passes by him, and he feels so much better now.

Before he realizes it, he's sitting down on the garden of the mansion, under the moonlight the place looks like the ideal place to take a nap, his eyes heavy already, he doesn't pass out because of the female leaving and coming back shortly with a glass of water. She stands in front of him and holds out the glass, her gloved hands catch his attention, black. Why was she wearing the color? He stares at the glass dumbly, what was he supposed to do with that? It takes him a minute to realize it, and he takes it, downs the thing in a single try and then puts the glass down on the grass. He lies back and closes his eyes, enjoying the refreshing cold feeling the water left on his throat.

When he doesn't feel her presence leave, he opens one eye and looks at her, then the other and he's frowning. She has this certain look on her face, and he can't decipher what it is. Her eyes have this sort of confused look on them, and it isn't until he calls out to her that she blinks and tilts her head to the side –which might he add, looked too adorable- that she responds.

"I'm sorry. What?"

"I said, why the hell are you still here?" He's surprised when his voice is thick with taut, he didn't mean to say it like that, but it bothered him so much for a reason, just… having her there. He didn't give it a second doubt of thinking that maybe she was jut being nice in an attempt to get to Wes, his talented brother, but then another, a selfish part of him, actually liked to imagine that the female actually cared for him, cared enough to avoid him making a huge fool out of himself. But coherent thoughts came and went just like those who actually cared for him.

She remains silent and then he's convinced she's only here to use as a way to get to Wes. This sort of thing, happened –or used to- frequently whenever people got a hold of the fact that famous Wes Evans had a little brother, fangirls of his, they would try to become friends with him only to get to Wes, completely ignoring Soul. When he turned fifteen he stopped caring, and now, age twenty, and for the first time in years, this female, this _Jane Doe_, who seemed so familiar to him in a certain way, was the cause of his worries now. He had enough already of all of it, the nightmares, the screaming, scattered pieces broken and shown at random times when his memory let those thoughts access his mind, pieces that fit such a larger picture with holes in it, and now he had to deal with another stupid feeling of not knowing who this chick was and why she was causing him to feel this way?

Oh, Soul would love it to blame it on the alcohol making the assumptions, he really wished he could. But he knew, and between waiting for a reply that might never come and shooing away his problems to have a peaceful night until his brother stopped showing off, to stop having such a perfect life without worrying like he did, he chose to just get everything over with.

"Look, do me a favor and get lost. If you're here to get to my brother's pants, then just go and act all flirty, don't come bother me for things you can easily do." He eyes her from head to toe, ignores how she looks highly offended, and then cruelly smirks up at her, ruby eyes staring into greens –there's this painful bang against his chest and he's sure she seems familiar, a small part of him his hopeful and thinks, that maybe, maybe it is her- . He gives her a short chuckle, "good luck though, with a chest that flat I really doubt he'll be interested"

And then, Soul Evans expects her to say something, like everyone who has ever tried to talk to him in his isolation time has had, all received with cruel comments and him being a jerk, he can't help it though, things like those make people change, some for the better, some for the worse, and some… well, he likes to think they're sent to their own hell and there's no escaping. At this point, he's not even sure where he is at this point, clearly not deep enough because hey, he's having a conversation for the first time in weeks, and that's a bonus. But he really wants to leave this place and go back to the confines of his room. Instead, he's met with silence and then he's watching her calmly walk away, disappearing into the darkness, the only thing reminding him that she was in fact there just a minute ago, where the sound of her heels against the floor that slowly decreased as she moved further away from him.

He scoffs looks up at the empty night sky with its moon lonely in the sky, not a star to be seen. And then he thinks about how stupid he was for thinking that she was familiar. The girl he knew would never back down and leave without winning a fight.

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**I really hope the first chapter wasn't boring - I just needed to get that out of the way**

**and hopefully in a near future we'll get to see what happened to Soul.**

**Anyways, interaction time! :D even though it was short but hopefully in the future there will be more.**

**Please Rate and Review, critiques are always welcome!**


	3. Chapter 3

**All Characters displayed in this work do not belong to me.**

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**Hopeless**

Silvery forks and knifes could not ever cut through the tension in the air between the two. The sun had long gone out of its hiding place, the warmth of it radiating from the sky as it laughed at the citizens of the city who were to endure it's heat, Soul Evans was one of those people and for once in his life, he really wished he hadn't kept on drinking last night. The memory of the events after he was led out by the female –who he encountered various times after and simply ignored her- to the garden were at most, blurs, things that even if he tried to remember, would bite him back in the ass with the migraine he was currently trying to hide, though it was pretty obvious by the way he slumped against the table and his ruby eyes screamed with pain.

Soul could only recall waking up in a clean fresh room, nothing smelled old, the maids had done a very excellent job and for once in a long time, he actually decided to go down and have breakfast. Of course he knew that would mean simply having to sit down at the table and have to see Wes, who at this point Soul wondered what exactly he was doing here in his house. Wes had his own mansion, he could easily go to his and not have to endure Soul anymore, but the oldest Evans simply replied with things like "I just really enjoy being around my little brother, that's all." Soul called bullshit on that. So yes, he sat down on the table where Wes was already eating; he never batted an eyelash at his younger brother, not like Soul could even bring himself to care.

When one of the maids came, he simply asked for bacon and eggs and more anesthetics. He swore that out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Wes shaking his head disapprovingly.

Which led to Soul sneaking glances at him, who was sitting at the opposite side of table, every two minutes or so. The only sound was that of the forks hitting the porcelain plates. _It's only a matter of time before he starts spewing bullshit_, Soul thought. When Wes took a drink of his glass which upon further notice was some sort of wine, or so Soul thought it was, Soul only kept on eating. _Four…three…two…_

"You do realize that last night was unforgivable right Soul?" Ah yes, there it was. Soul only looked up from his plate and found himself staring at ruby eyes -his reflection- and shrugged. Wes didn't say anything, but kept on staring and Soul only did the same, the tension in the room growing. "Which is why I had to take responsibilities for your actions."

Soul rolled his eyes; of course he would take responsibility for his actions. It just gave him a more flattering image. Soul could already see it in the headlines of Death Times. **The Evan's pianist punches the mayor's son in what seemed to be the cause of a love triangle. **Tabloids would have had a field day if they got a hold of it; however, Wes had stepped in before anything else would have happened. In all honesty, Soul couldn't remember much of what had happened, one moment he's back at the bar drinking two more shots and the next he and Kid –an old friend of his- are beating each other up. For what? He couldn't recall, but something must've happened to make him lash out, otherwise he would be lamenting his black eye and how his rib cage hurts like hell.

"You didn't have to, you know." Soul glares before popping open the lid to the medications that was brought to him by one of the staff members not too long ago, pops in three in his mouth and swallows. He'd give anything to die of an overdose. "I'm twenty, soon going to be twenty one. I can handle my own shit bro."

Soul thinks his eyes fooled him, but for a second he saw something so different to Wes eyes that was uncharacteristic of him, he seemed… angry. But as soon as it was there it was gone, in a blink of an eye. However, his voice was almost like it was spewing out venom, Soul noticed as he finished eating his bacon, he had lost interest in whatever it was that Wes was going to say.

"It doesn't even look like you're an adult Soul." Ouch, okay that hurt him but Soul brushed it off. "You look like a spoiled brat! Someday one of your actions is going to cost your life. Wait, if I recall correctly, it _almost_ costs you your life." Then Wes's standing up, and before Soul could say anything, even though at this point he was trying to erase the memories of the event. He's already gone, leaving Soul in the dining table alone.

Soul doesn't even have the energy to go after Wes, doesn't even try calling out to him as he hears the main doors open and then shut. Doesn't even bother opening his eyes and pulling his face out of the empty but greased plate of his as the car outside leaves. The headache is killing him again, and for the first time in a while, Soul's crying.

If he has ever felt more miserable than right now, he can't recall when it would've been. The pounding in his head is almost unbearable and unwanted memories come flooding into his vision. He recalls the scene so vividly, that he almost jumped out of the chair when her scream filled his ears. He doesn't feel bad about his decision to punch Kid at all –maybe because he was drunk and he was known to be quite aggressive when not sober- neither does he feel bad about almost losing his life to protect her, he regrets not remembering if she's alive or not. That sets him spiraling down, what would've been the use if he didn't know if she was alive. For all he knew, after he was wounded and passed out, she could've been killed.

Wes never answered his questions; neither did any of his so called friends. He was alone, truly. With that in mind, Soul shakily stands up from the table, his pajamas slightly wet with his crying, he sniffles before slowly making his way up the stairs and into the second floor, ignoring how each step he takes only makes the pounding in his head grow worse by the second. He's almost at the top before he realizes he's sweating and his breath is becoming hard to regulate. Had it been this hot before?.

He didn't know. All he remembers is losing his footage just as another memory comes, his chest burns and Soul's letting out a blood curling scream as he slowly watches everything blur as he falls down the stairs. His head collides with the cold floor and then he sees black spots consuming his vision, the sound of footsteps quickly making his way towards him.

Soul's hand reached up to his head and when he puts his hands up so he can see, he's rewarded with the smell and sight of blood in his hand, and then he's weakly laughing before closing his eyes and letting darkness consume him.

When he wakes up all he feels is the coldness that envelops his body. There's a silence in the place and without him having to open his eyes he knows where he is. He doesn't want to stand up, Soul prefers to lay on the floor because sooner or later he'll get bored of waiting and send him back into reality. This nagging feeling at the back of mind however, tells him to stop acting like a coward. After all, if the Little Ogre called him back to this forsaken place he has his reason –however, he has been prone to calling Soul into this place various times because apparently he wants to talk, there's only so much one can do trapped in a place that he can shift into whatever desires he wants- and maybe, if he got it over with and talked to the red little bastard, he could be back at the mansion.

His ruby eyes open and are greeted by darkness, the tiled black and red tiles at his back are cold as ever, colder than he can remember them. Soul stands up, ignoring the small pain at the back of his head and fixes his suit so it's not wrinkled, same black with white thin stripes on it only adorned by a vibrant red that resembled his eyes. Soul looks around the black abyss, there's not a single soul to be seen, and he frowns. Usually there's a door or a table, but this time, all he can see as far as the eye can see is darkness. He remains rooted to the spot until his ears pick up the familiar sound of a piano being played.

He's not much aware of when his feet began to follow the sound, he's calm, collected and for once in a long time, he feels at ease or rather, more at ease than back at his house. He reminds himself that this is his mind, he controls this realm over anything, he could stay in here forever but that would mean having to deal with The Little Ogre, a demon that only wants to mess up with his mind.

The tiles slowly loose color as he proceeds, the bloody red turns into a light grey that sucks the energy out of him, the color is so monotone and he prefers to avoid looking at the floor, as there is a mirror besides him and a red curtains that contrast against everything that has now taking a black and white color, Soul avoids looking at the mirror besides him. He knows what's in there and he'd prefer to not give the thing –as it would never be him, it's an animal with no color. Teeth sharper than his and insanity bouncing strongly off of his presence- the satisfaction of acknowledgement, so Soul stands there, not really sure what to do.

All he thinks about is the music coming from the piano, it doesn't sound like its him playing –rather the other him, who upon Soul taking a quickly glance to his side, he notices its not there anymore- but at the same time, he can never be sure. His mind, though he's in control, likes to fuck with him. Soul lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, his eyes are strained on the curtains and he finds himself taking a step forward, his pale hands grip the red silky curtains and he pulls them aside, stepping in with the most unbothered expression.

Ruby orbs find themselves scanning the new room, taking another step forward; Soul catches the faintest sound of the curtains behind his form slowly vanishing. Leaving what he could awesome was a wall without a door, no exit. The thought made him gulp and then head towards the small table with three chairs at its side.

The room he finds himself in, he notices that it's not at all familiar. The walls are a white color that seemed to resemble grey, the tiled floor which he stepped upon was that of black and white checkered spaces and the table was made of glass. Upon the walls hung various frames with pictures of his childhood, somewhere along the way. The pictures stop –he thinks around the time he was turning thirteen- and there's a huge gap in between those photos to the next amount.

Soul wants to get away from staring at the photos in the wall, however his body doesn't stop and he's found himself looking at the last three frames that hung on the wall. He takes the last one, his breathing hitches when he notices that the last picture is that of-

"Come along boy, there's no time to waste by looking at those" The voice catches his attention and Soul drops the frame. He stumbles back as to not let the glass cut any part of him, but much to his surprise, once the frame touched the ground and the glass broke, it disappeared and didn't even make a sound. His eyes trailed from the floor to black shoes and then he's found himself start at the Little Demon.

Without another word, the latter begins to walk away; the room begins to change as he advances and Soul doesn't have another option but to follow after him. It feels so weird to him, foreign to say the least. When was the last time he had been inside this place? Spoken to Little Demon? Quite some time ago, probably around the first week of suffering but he later blocked him out.

When he comes to his senses again, Soul's sitting down on another table; the sound of the piano is closer now. He blinks and notices that Little Demon is sitting at the opposite side of the table, two cups of a liquid he can't tell what it is appear out of thin air and he watches cautiously as the red-skin individual takes a sip from it. Little Demon motions for him to drink and Soul obliges.

He wrinkles his nose.

Coffee.

"This is quite a nice surprise Soul. You haven't visited me in here for at least a couple of months" Little Demon only waited for an answer, his face clearly insulted by the way Soul pushed the glass away. Childish.

"Yeah."

"Not talking much are you? Such a shame, neither does the other Soul speak. I was hoping you and I would have a chat." He states. Soul's eyes trail off to the side and sure enough, to his suspicion, the other him was sitting in a bench stool playing the piano. The music coming from his fingers as he rapidly danced with the keys, hitting each note with such a passion, almost reminded him of himself. However, the music the keys emitted were nothing similar to his music.

Soul's attention is brought back to the table where he's at, the music filling his ears he slowly eases it to the back of his mind. His eyes are settled on the familiar demon before speaking, "A chat about what exactly? I didn't ask to be here you know."

Little Demon nodded, his hands resting on the table, he sighs before snapping his fingers, the two cups vanishing in the air, Soul doesn't even question it at this point, whatever the hell goes on in these rooms, inside those curtains from where he came from, are no longer part of his domain. They are Little Demon's.

"About your behavior boy. I've seen you go through so much yet you crumble like a weakling by the sight of her perishing. Sad, pathetic even." The demon says, shaking his head in a manner of disappointment.

It takes Soul a whole lot of self-control to not lash out, however, before he's able to mutter a single word Little Demon continues.

"So, let me ask you. Because I'm sick of looking at you mop around, what good would do you to let you have access to that night's even? Obviously none."

He bites his lips, he knows he's right… in a way, but he has to know. Because as much as it pains him to know that a part of him is actually okay with not knowing what actually happened only led him into a false sense of hope and happiness that maybe he saved her. On the other hand, it only rotted his mind more. He could tell, it wouldn't be long until he succumbed into madness.

He glared at the red individual; he'd want that wouldn't he? Soul wasn't stupid, obviously if Little Demon was actually willing to give him the information everyone withheld from him, he'd want something in exchange. But the curiosity was biting at him, demanding him to ask and to give.

"I'd know if what I think is right or wrong." He replies, Soul leans back on the chair and finds that there's no chair anymore. His eyes widen slightly and he's falling all over again, he grits his teeth and closes his eyes waiting for the impact. However it never came.

He didn't want to open his eyes.

The music had stopped after the moment he felt the sensation of falling, there was a light breeze that covered his body, his torso, and he wasn't wearing a shirt anymore. Soul takes a couple of deep breaths before attempting to open his eyes, the sound of chirping and water slowly make its way into his brain and when he could finally open his eyes he quickly shuts them, groaning, moving a bit to make himself more comfortable.

He knew right away he was outside, probably in the garden. His head hurt like crazy however that didn't stop him from trying again to open his eyes. He tilted his head to the side as to not meet the sun's direct rays of light to burn his eyeballs, Soul opens them slowly and his heart stops when he finds himself staring at a color he wasn't sure he'd want to see this moment.

Two orbs of a jade color that sparkled under the sunlight locked with his own ruby ones. A smile to accompany the pretty eyes was displayed on the woman's face.

"You're awake."

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******Please Rate and Review, critiques are always welcome!**


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